


'cause we'll hide in sin

by CallicoKitten



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Hate Sex, Homophobic Language, Hunters, Infidelity, M/M, Pre-Canon, Rough Sex, Skinwalker, The Author Regrets Everything, and i have no idea how this got so long, bb!sociopath peter is seriously fucked up, laura is fucking awesome, or rambly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 16:43:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallicoKitten/pseuds/CallicoKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Hale always gets what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'cause we'll hide in sin

**Author's Note:**

> visionary ate my brain and i could talk all day about the wonderful meta on it but i won't because this isn't the time or the place. this spiraled out of control (it was literally only going to be bb!peter and chris having motel sex and chris feeling guilty but fuck what happened?) i don't know.
> 
> this fic spans roughly two years ending a few days after the flashbacks end in visionary 
> 
> most of this is ian bohen's fault. 
> 
> a note on ages; i fucked them up in this fic (most probably) but in my current headcanon Peter is 7/8 years older than Derek and Chris is 7/8 years older than Peter.
> 
> also, peter is derek's dad brother rather than talia's because last names? (have we ever got confirmation on that anyway?)
> 
> title is from vampire smile by kyla la grange
> 
>  
> 
> unbeta'd and mostly awful but it's 1am and i have work tomorrow so _have it_
> 
> i think that's it?

The first time he meets Chris Argent he’s in the forest near his house. He’s two years out of high school and things have been slow for him; Talia doesn’t trust him enough to be part of the pack and he spent most of his time at school pissing people off and playing basketball so there’s not much hope of a job above minimum wage. He doesn’t know who Chris is, not back then, but he can smell the cold steel and mountain ash on him – his wolf says _hunter_ , tugs at him to run but Peter’s never been good at listening to others. 

Talia has warned him about the hunters in town – snooping around a coven in the centre of town or something. 

He crouches in the bushes, watches the hunter load up a cross bow, watches him fire it. It swishes through the air and thunks in to a tree a few yards away.

“I know you’re there,” the hunter drawls after a few beats as he reloads his bow. “I can hear you breathing.” Peter’s interest is piqued, he steps out of the bush, tries his best not to look guilty. The hunter looks him up and down and Peter wriggles a little because this guy is _interesting_ but he’s still a hunter. “You’re a Hale.” The man states blandly.

And Peter scents something he’s only ever smelled on one other person. “And you’re an Argent. Gerard’s son.” If the man is surprised that Peter knows that he doesn’t show it. “Isn’t this the part where you kill me, hunter?”

The hunter snorts and turns away from Peter. There’s no hint of fear in the hunter’s scent, anger, Peter smells, not anger at him though. Anger at someone. And something else, something he’s not familiar with. “Have you killed someone?” the hunter asks, looses his second bolt.

 _Swish. Thunk._

Buries itself an inch below the first bolt. 

Peter shifts slightly.

( _”They’ll go for your throat,”_ his mother told him once upon a time. _”If they come for you, you run hard and you run fast because they’ll kill you in the most painful way possible.”_ )

“No,” He smirks. “Not yet, anyway.”

The hunter glances back at him, “Then I suggest you get back home, boy.” 

Peter cocks his head, steps towards him. “Just like that? You’re not going to threaten me or anything?”

The hunter’s grin is brilliant and just this side of predatory; he pats the crossbow in his arms. “Do I need to?”

It sends a thrill through Peter that he’s not entirely comfortable with, he runs his tongue across his teeth, draws in closer. “Maybe.”

The hunter stares back at him, calculating until something flickers across his gaze and he turns away. “Go home, kid.” 

He stalks away and Peter realises that he _wants_.

-

Peter is five years old when his father dies.

He’s nine years old when his mother dies and his sister in law becomes the alpha.

He’s eleven when his brother leaves. ( _Exiled_.)

He’s left with Talia and her cubs and Talia’s not really sure what to do with him. She worries about him, he knows that much, he catches it in her eyes sometimes. She’s not sure whether she’s meant to play mother or sister, alpha or pack mate.

He’s smart; he does well in school (when he can be bothered.) Trouble is he gets bored too easily. Trouble is he doesn’t really care. He’s a star athlete, top of his class; he surrounds himself with admirers, with acquaintances, team mates, class mates.

That’s all they are. Background characters, a way to hide how fucked up he is. 

Somewhere along the way Talia gives up on him, Peter doesn’t really blame her. She’s got enough to contend with what with being the most powerful Alpha seen for decades and having three cubs of her own; she doesn’t need another one. 

Laura sees through him as soon as she hits fifteen, she’s always been bright. (Not as bright as him though.) He gets on well with her all the same. (Sort of anyway.)

Cora’s too young for Peter to really take an interest in but then there’s Derek. Derek who Talia tells him to look out for. Derek who looks up to him and thinks he’s cool and asks him about for lessons and explanations and guidance. 

-

It’s not hard to find out where the hunter’s are staying. There are at least ten of them sharing two rented houses on the edge of town. Peter thinks it’s a little excessive, ten hunters for one coven (even if witches are notoriously tricky.) He’s fairly sure Talia could probably handle them on her own if it weren’t for that pesky peace treaty she’d signed with the head witch a few years back. 

Peter knows Gerard Argent is among them, he’s been warned – they all have.

He watches the house for a minute, scenting the air – it’s empty but for the hunter from the woods and Peter wonders what would happen if he just waltzed in. (He’s not sure what’s brought him here, why he’s got this sudden _need_ to be near the older hunter, to figure him out.) He’s almost talked himself in to doing it when he hears a distant howl. _Talia._

He turns away reluctantly but not before he glimpses a figure at one of the upstairs windows. He waves jauntily and jogs off in the direction of the forest.

 

-

“Stay away from the hunters, Peter,” Laura says, dropping into a chair beside him at breakfast. Laura’s only a year younger than him so naturally they fluctuate between getting on well and fighting like cat and dog. Like hunter and wolf.

Cora and Derek are already at school and the rest of their pack are at their respective jobs so they’re alone. “What do you think I am, Laura?” Peter scoffs, “A moron? Of course I’m staying away from them.”

Laura takes a piece of toast off his plate, “Liar.” She snorts. “I could smell them on you when you came home yesterday.”

There’s no point in arguing the fact so Peter doesn’t and Laura chews, watching him thoughtfully. “What were you even doing snooping around them?”

“Just checking them out.”

“You could have been killed,” she states – it’s not said with anger or fear or annoyance, it just _is_. “It’s dangerous, especially with Gerard and Chris Argent out there.”

 _Chris, huh?_ Peter thinks, rolls it around in his head and files it away for later. He stands up, “I know what I’m doing, Laura.” 

Laura shoots him a dubious look, “Just don’t drag Derek into whatever you’re doing. I’ll make you pay if you do.” 

And she will, Peter knows she will.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he grins. “You know I wouldn’t.”

“No, Peter. I really don’t.”

-

The next time he sees Chris he’s in town, thinking about pestering Derek because there really isn’t much else to do. He’s just coming out of a shop when he’s grabbed by his shirt front and hauled into an alleyway. He barely has time to process this (not entirely unwelcome) turn of events when there’s a hand at his throat, “Why are you following me?” Chris spits and Peter has to bite his lip to keep from giggling because _really?_

He hadn’t been following Chris intentionally but the hunter doesn’t need to know that. “Who says I was following you?” 

“I saw you at the house,” Chris snarls. “Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?” Peter tries to wriggle out of Chris’ grip but only succeeds in causing some interesting friction. Chris growls and tightens his grip on Peter’s throat. “ _Don’t._ ” 

Peter sniggers (but his vision is starting to blur at the edges a little and that’s a bit not good.) “Whatever you say, big boy. I mean if this how you get your rocks off no judgement.” 

It works, Chris drops him like he’s been electrocuted and springs backwards. Peter eyes the gold band on his left hand and something burns in his gut. (There’s the heavy scent of desire in the air and Peter’s not sure it’s all his.) “Why were you following me?” Chris repeats as soon as he’s regained his composure (but there’s still a hot flush in cheeks, and Peter hears his heart speed up a little.)

He smirks, “Maybe you’re interesting. Maybe I’m bored. Or maybe I just wanted some fucking snacks and you’re a paranoid bastard.” He nods to the bag of chips lying a few feet away from them and Chris eyes it warily. “You were at the house,” he says, heartbeat steadying. “I saw you.”

Peter shrugs, “Hey, know thy enemy right, Chris?”

Chris stiffens. “You know my name.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not like you don’t know mine. I bet your dear old dad has files on all of us.”

Chris swallows. “Peter.” He says it quietly and a chill surges through Peter, all the way along his spine. 

Peter grins, “Bingo.” 

“Did she send you after me?” he demands. “You know we’re not here for you.”

“ _Please,_ I am capable of some unique thoughts, you know. We’re not animals.” 

Something else joins the mix of emotions in Chris’ eyes, “Yes, you are.” he says quietly. His heart beat stutters over the words. As he strides away there’s the soft scent of regret and Peter thinks, _huh._

-

The thing is as much as Peter might fantasise about it he doesn’t actually think anything will happen between him and Chris. Mostly because he knows it would most likely end with him being hung from a tree and sliced in half and that’s surprisingly _not_ something Peter has on his bucket list. 

But then again, Peter _always_ gets what he wants one way or another so he probably shouldn’t have doubted it.

He’s on his way back from a party in the warehouse district when he’s hit by a burst of _something_ blue and sparkly. His head hits the concrete with a crunching noise that makes his stomach go queasy and his vision swim and there’s yelling. He thinks maybe Laura’s chasing after him, angry that he left her _again_ and he should probably get up and _run_ but his head is spinning and he just needs to close his eyes for a minute.

When he opens them again he’s in strange bed, in a strange house. There’s someone nearby – Peter can hear their heartbeat and a familiar smell surrounds him. He smirks, eyes still closed, “So, first you accost me in an alleyway and then you kidnap me in the dead of night and drag me back to your bedroom? You’re a piece of work, Argent.” 

When he opens his eyes Chris is glaring down at him and then he’s being hauled up and shoved against the wall, “Jesus, at least buy me dinner first.” _Always with the walls._

“You _idiot,_ ” Chris hisses. “You should know better than to wonder around at night while there are rogue witches about.” 

Ah. So that was the whatever that had hit him. “You know, those witches were perfectly amiable before you and your family thundered in.” Peter mutters. He wriggles but Chris’ grip is unrelenting, “Why am I here anyway? Did you kidnap me just to strangle me yourself?” 

“I couldn’t just leave you lying in the street,” Chris mutters. “It would be as good as declaring war on the Hales.”

Peter doesn’t need super hearing to know that’s bullshit. “ _Sure_. That’s why you brought me back to you _bedroom_.” 

Chris flushes, bares his teeth in a grimace. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

Peter rocks his hips a little ( _oh_ and the desire is definitely present in both parties.) “You tell me, Chris.” He smirks.

Chris’ grip tightens on his throat, “I have a wife,” Chris snaps. “I love her.”

“Do you, now?” 

“ _Yes,_ ” he hisses, but he still doesn’t let Peter move away from the wall. 

“Bet you didn’t always, I can tell. It was arranged, wasn’t it? You don’t seem like you had much interest in girls,” that seems to hit a nerve because Chris flushes angrily, slams his fists against the wall beside Peter’s head. It’s strangely thrilling. “What was it? Daddy didn’t approve of your extracurricular activities so he married you off to a nice hunter girl to avoid embarrassment?”

“Shut _up_ ,” Chris roars and his fist collides with Peter’s jaw. Peter sees stars, tastes blood but then there’s a hand roughly yanking his head around and forceful lips against his.

And _oh,_ fucking _finally_.

Chris’s hands are on his hips and Peter arches against the hunter, making him growl and yank him towards the bed.

-

There are bruises on his hips Peter’s fairly certain that even with his accelerated healing he’ll be walking funny for a week. Chris is sat at the end of the bed, head in his hands, “Jesus,” he whispers. “Jesus, this was... this wasn’t meant to happen.”

Peter wonders if Chris thinks he was taking advantage. It’s enough to have him sniggering quietly into the sheets.

Chris turns to him, “How old are you even?” he asks, as though it’s just occurred to him.

“Sixteen,” Peter answers, chuckling when Chris splutters, “Relax, I’m twenty-one.” 

“Christ,” Chris closes his eyes and sighs heavily. “This is so fucked up.” He stands and throws Peter’s clothes to him. “You have to leave. The other hunters will be back soon. This was a mistake.”

“A mistake that happened multiple times,” Peter reminds him smugly as he wriggles into his jeans. He’s standing up to leave when Chris grabs his wrist, “This _can’t_ happen again.” He says urgently but Peter can see the unbridled _lust_ in his eyes so he grins, “Sure, Argent. Whatever you like.”

-

Laura’s waiting for him when he gets home, it’s 5am and it’s obvious that she hasn’t been home long. Her lipstick is smudged and there are some particularly telling marks on her neck. “Where the fuck were you?” she snaps, “I looked for you for ages!”

“Left early,” Peter mutters, heading for the stairs. He needs to get the hunter’s smell off of himself before she smells it, before Talia wakes up and -

Laura follows him and wrinkles her nose, “Who were you –” and then she breaks off, eyes narrowed. “What the _fuck_ , Peter?” 

_Shit._

Peter turns to her, gives her his best smile, “It was just a bit of fun, Laura. Don’t freak out.”

“You were with a fucking _Argent_ , Peter. That’s not _just a bit of fun_ that’s playing with a loaded fucking atom bomb. What if it’d been a trap?” Laura hisses grabbing hold of his wrist to keep him from disappearing upstairs.

He meets her eyes warily, “It wasn’t a trap though.” 

“So? How could you be so fucking _stupid_ , Peter?”

Peter sighs, “Look, it was a mistake,” he lies (he’s practised enough for his heart rate to stay steady.) “It won’t happen again. Just don’t tell Talia, okay? She’d freak and I didn’t tell her about that time you dated that vamp last year.”

Laura glares at him, “Fine. But if I smell him on you again I’m telling.”

It wouldn’t make much difference, Peter reflects, it’s not like Talia trusts him anyway.

-

Chris wasn’t Peter’s first. Wasn’t even Peter’s first guy – that honour went to a boy in the year above who now worked part time at The Jungle and gave Peter free drinks – but he was the first one who knew what Peter was. 

He was the first one who didn’t treat Peter like some precious gem stone or something made of glass. And that shouldn’t mean so much but it does and it’s weird. Peter’s not used to people outside his family _meaning_ something to him. Especially when he’s only known said person for less than a week.

-

He runs into Chris in a bar.

(Well, he follows Chris to a bar but in his defence the bar happened to be in the direction he was going. Sort of.)

Chris is drinking alone and he glowers when he notices Peter but still, when Peter saunters out he follows. Peter grins, leaning against the wall, “You look grumpy. Witches giving you trouble?” 

Chris shoots him a long suffering look, “What are you doing here, Peter?” 

“Just checking in on my favourite hunter.” 

“I told you what happened was a mistake,” Chris says lowly. “I told you it couldn’t happen again.”

Peter draws closer to Chris, “And yet here you are.” 

“I have a family,” he says, “A wife.” As if it’s armour, his best defence. Peter doesn’t doubt that Chris feels something for his wife but Chris hasn’t told him to piss off yet, hasn’t walked away yet. He closes the gap between them and Chris doesn’t push him away.

Chris tastes like whiskey and anger and exhaustion.

-

“I’m going to leave California soon,” Chris says, two weeks later. “We stopped the rogue witches, there’s no reason for us to be here for the time being.”

They’re in a motel room – Peter’s not a hundred percent sure how they graduated from dark alleyways outside of dive bars to seedy motels but he’s not complaining. Mattresses are a lot kinder to his skin than bricks and tarmac. He’s sprawled out on the bed while Chris stares stonily out of the grim covered window, there are deep scratches on the hunter’s back, bites along his shoulders. 

It’s only been three weeks, he’s only met this man a handful of times, he shouldn’t want to snarl _no, you’re mine, you have to stay._ But he does and he’s not really sure what to do with that. 

Instead he balls his fists in the cheap scratchy sheets, “When do you leave?” 

“Tomorrow,” Chris turns to him, “Will you be okay?”

Peter hides his face for a fraction of a second before grinning, “Of course, idiot. Don’t worry; I won’t go all emo on you. You’re just a means to an end.” 

There’s an odd expression in Chris’ eyes when he nods and Peter wonders if repeating that will make it anymore true.

(When Peter wakes up and Chris is gone the next day he tears up the motel room, shreds the mattress, leaves deep gouges in the carpet and walls, throws the bedside tables out the window.)

-

Chris rolls back into a town four months later, alone this time, tracking a skin-walker that’s left a body count across California. Talia’s warned them about it but skin-walker’s always have an agenda and she’s certain that none of them will be on the hit list. She doesn’t like them getting involved unless it’s necessary. 

Peter tracks him through the forest as he searches out the skin-walker and his wolf growls happily at Chris’ familiar scent. He steps into Chris’ path only after the hunter’s been following a cold trail for an hour. “You know,” he drawls, “they say a truly powerful skin-walker can take any form it chooses. This is a big forest, Chris, how do you expect to find it?”

Chris visibly tenses, “What are you doing here, Peter?”

“Helping _you_ , of course. You do realise the trails been cold for almost an hour, right? You’re following deer tracks. Like actual deer.”

The hunter relaxes a little, “And you would know this because?”

Peter taps his nose, “Skin-walker’s smell different. It stopped being a deer a while back, not sure what it turned into.” 

Chris snarls with frustration, “Fine. Great. Anything else?”

“I could help you, you know.” 

Chris seems to consider this, as annoyed as Chris is with him Peter’s pretty sure that Chris won’t turn down the opportunity to stop this thing before it kills again. He shifts and eyes Peter suspiciously, “Why would you help me? I know your type, Peter. You don’t do anything for anyone else unless you think it’ll benefit yourself.”

“You _wound_ me, Chris. I’m helping you for the greater good.”

Chris snorts disbelievingly. 

 

-

Chris’ motel room is much nicer than the last one Peter met him in; the curtains aren’t stained and the sheets actually feel clean. Peter lounges while Chris prepares the bullets, coating them in white ash and sending off waves of silent fury. Peter assumes (hopes) most of the fury is directed at the skin-walker.

He’s skimming through a scrawled account of a string skin-walker attacks written by someone called Alexander that Chris had thrown to (at) him. “So who’s it after anyway?”

Chris shoots him a glare as though this is all Peter’s fault (and Peter knows it _isn’t_ because he hasn’t pissed anyone off lately – well, not to the point where they’d send a psychotic shaman after him anyway.) “Someone called David Whittemore.” He mutters. 

Peter frowns, “The attorney with the fucking huge house? What’d he do?”

Chris doesn’t look up from his bullets, “You don’t need to know that.”

Peter snaps the book shut, “You are _no_ fun.” 

The bullet slips out of Chris’ hand with a clatter, “This isn’t supposed to be _fun_ , Peter. People are dying. Now shut the fuck up and do what I say or go back home.” 

-

They track the skin-walker to the parking lot of a particularly expensive restaurant downtown. It smells like dog but _more_ and they’re crouching behind a dumpster and Chris has a fucking gun in his hands and Peter wonders when his life became a low budget supernatural thriller. 

“It knows we’re after it,” Chris hisses. “Apparently they can read minds and don’t look directly into its eyes; it’ll be able to come you if you do.” 

Peter stares at him. “Okay and you’re telling me this because?”

“We need to get it away from all these people, lure it into the woods,” Chris leans out to glance at the bustling restaurant, he sits back and looks at Peter very seriously, “You’re going to need to be bait.”

“ _What?_ ” Peter splutters. _Bait?_ “You haven’t even given me a gun! How am I supposed to defend myself?”

Chris quirks an eyebrow, “Don’t you trust me, Peter?”

It’s the million dollar question. Peter’s not sure he _trusts_ anyone, there was his brother once, his mother, maybe Laura too but now? Chris seems to take his silence as a reluctant yes or maybe he just doesn’t care about the answer (which hurts more than Peter wants to admit) because he brushes a thumb across Peter’s cheek and says, “Run fast, wolf.”

And Peter does.

-

Peter’s running faster than he’s ever run before, as far as he can get from town, from his house, from the fucking _bear_ that’s chasing him. It’s crashing through the trees behind him and roaring (but it’s roars aren’t roars – they’re screams, everyone’s screams and it’s leaving Peter dizzy and sick and _where the fuck is Chris?_ ) 

And then he trips.

 _Of course_ he fucking trips.

Flies through the air and lands face first in the dirt and leaves. The skin-changer skids to a halt behind him and screams (it sounds like Derek, Derek howling in fear and pain). Peter twists ( _don’t look directly into it’s eyes_ ) the bear rears up behind him, all claws and teeth and slathering jaws and Peter wonders if a skin-changer can kill a werewolf (the answer, of course, is yes, but he doesn’t want to believe that.)

He closes his eyes and swears that this is the last time he’ll trust a fucking Argent and he can hear the bear’s claws descending –

A shot rings out and then there are hands on his shoulders, shaking him. “Godammit, Peter,” Chris is panting, “You better not be dead.”

“You sound almost concerned,” Peter mutters, Chris breathes a sigh of relief and then Peter’s being pulled to the hunter’s chest and there are soft lips brushing across his neck. 

“You fucking _idiot_ ,” Chris says. “You ran too fucking fast for me. Jesus, you moron.”

It’s sort of nice in a completely fucked up way.

-

Chris comes into town every few months after that. They don’t talk about it, Peter just follows Chris’ scent to whatever cheap motel the hunter’s picked to stay in and spends a night or two.

The thing about rough, meaningless sex is that it’s meant to be meaningless. It’s meant to leave him breathless and relaxed and exhausted.

The problem, Peter reflects, is that it kind of leaves him more wound up than before.

-

Derek’s new girlfriend is eerily perfect for his nephew (and Peter’s not just saying that because unlike the rest of Derek’s friends she has an I.Q of above four, not that that isn’t scoring her bonus points.) She’s sweet and pretty and clever but there’s something... Peter just doesn’t want Derek to get hurt. And he will when she finds out he’s a monster and runs screaming.

Peter doesn’t want that happen. 

-

“I know you were at the distillery,” Laura says, inviting herself into his room. 

“Mm, hello to you too, Laura.” It’s true. The hunters are in town and so are the other California packs, Talia doesn’t trust Peter enough to come to pack meetings like that so Peter had snuck up. It wasn’t his fault Derek and Paige had been up there too.

She sits down on his bed and picks at the covers, “What were you doing up there?” 

“I was out for a run and smelt blood,” he shrugs. It’s not a complete lie. He _did_ smell blood and he _was_ out for a run of sorts. 

Laura doesn’t believe him but she doesn’t push it, “So you heard Ennis? He wants to start a war on the hunters. And you know the Argents are back in town?”

Peter rolls his eyes, “Why do I get the feeling that this will end with advice I don’t want or need.” He mutters and Laura sighs pointedly.

“Look, this isn’t like last time, Peter. The Argents are here because of us this time – they’re hunting wolves.”

“Yeah, you know I noticed that when they chased me and Derek around the woods for a couple of hours. It was kind of hard to miss.” 

Laura snarls, she’s an alpha to be and his wolf quivers a little. “Peter you know what I’m trying to say! Just be careful, okay? Extra careful?”

Peter shakes his head, “Jesus, you’re worse than Talia.” 

“I better not smell that hunter on you again,” She warns standing to leave. She pauses in the doorway, “And if you get my baby brother hurt I’ll tear your throat out.”

-

“No,” Chris tells him when Peter turns up at the door of his motel. Gerard is in the room next door but Peter’s sure the old man is out. 

Peter scoffs, “Yeah, okay.” Because they’ve done this before but Chris is still standing his ground, arms crossed, mouth a thin line. Peter frowns, “ _What?_ ”

“I said no.” Chris repeats and Peter is suddenly horribly aware of the gun at Chris’ belt. 

He swallows glances back up at Chris’ eyes – trying to gauge how serious this is. “That’s not what you said two months ago.” They’ve been doing this almost two years. Chris doesn’t get to just say _no._

Chris clenches his jaw. “That was two months ago. Things have changed, Peter. Things never should have gone this way in the first place.” He smells heavily of regret and Peter hates it.

“What? Did your wife find out or something?” Peter says it flippantly but Chris stiffens and the angry heat in Peter’s gut intensifies. “Oh my god, she fucking did, didn’t she? And what? You’re too scared to stand up to her? You’re too fucking frightened of your _wife_ to do anything? And I bet you told her it was all my fault, pretty little werewolf boy used magic or something to ensnare her big, _brave_ hunter, huh? Couldn’t face up to the fact that you’re such fucking desperate fag you decided to fuck the _monster_ you were supposed to be hunting! Or maybe she threatened to tell your daughter, hm? Couldn’t have that, could we? Couldn’t have your little hunter spawn – ”

He’s cut off as Chris yanks him in to the room by his throat and shoves him roughly on to the floor, “Don’t you _fucking_ dare talk about my family like that.” 

Peter’s never heard Chris talk like that, hissed through his teeth and resonating with the kind of cold fury Peter’s only ever mentally attributed to Gerard. There’s a gun pointed at his head and Peter freezes. 

“Now get the fuck out of here before I change my mind and string you up for your family to find.” 

Peter doesn’t need to be told twice, he scrambles up and stalks out but Chris calls after him. “If you ever, _ever_ , speak about my family like that again I will kill you in the most painful way I can think off and believe me, I know a lot about causing pain.”

(When he gets home Derek frowns at him, “You okay.”

“I’m fucking _fine_ ,” Peter snaps because what the fuck else can he say?)

-

Derek’s pulling away from him.

Peter doesn’t like it.

Derek’s always been the only one who trusts him _fully_. The one who actually _wants_ to spend time with him. But now he’s got Paige. Perfect Paige the human who can’t meet them _properly_ because she doesn’t know and everything is too complicated right now to explain.

It’d be easier if she was a werewolf.

If she was a werewolf like him and Derek.

-

Paige is dead and Derek is a _mess_.

Paige is _dead_ and Talia is so fucking angry at him.

Paige is fucking dead and Laura has him cornered in the woods, fangs bared, snarling deep in her throat. 

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?” she growls, crowding him against an old oak tree. 

The beta in Peter is cowering and he stammers over his words (he didn’t mean to kill her, it was Derek’s fault anyway, if he hadn’t - ) “I didn’t do anything, it wasn’t my fault...”

Laura actually _laughs_ at that. “You’re ridiculous,” she tells him, “You really don’t think you’ve done anything wrong, do you? You convinced you _fifteen year old_ nephew to let an alpha bite his girlfriend _without her consent_ and you think that you’re not to blame in anyway?” 

Peter looks away, “I thought I was doing the right thing.” 

Laura scoffs, “No, you didn’t. You realised Derek was pulling away from you and you decided to fuck things up for him. Were you jealous?” 

“ _No_ ,” Peter spits because _seriously?_

“Oh my god, you _were_ ,” Laura chuckles again. “You _killed_ a girl and ruined my brother’s life because you were _jealous_. Poor little Peter, his fifteen year old nephew finally realises what a fucked up sociopath he is and finds someone new, someone _good_ to spend his time with so you _destroy_ it.” 

Peter feels a growl build up in his throat, “I didn’t – ” he begins but Laura cuts him off by racking her claws across his cheek. 

“Just fucking _don’t_ , Peter. Just fucking _stop._ ”

Peter can’t help it, he whines a little as her claws find his throat, “You _wouldn’t._ ”

Laura draws back, “You’re right. I wouldn’t. Because I’m a fucking decent human being, Peter. Unlike you.” 

She leaves him trembling against the tree and he can’t go home because Talia’s there with Derek and Talia is very, _very_ capable of tearing his throat out and Peter’s not entirely convinced it won’t. The rest of the pack will be there as well. 

He wonders if they know what he did. 

He wonders if they’ll cast him out.

He swallows and slides down the tree to sit on the forest floor, knees pulled up to his chest. They all fucking hate him. 

It builds up inside him like a crescendo – they all _fucking hate_ him. He wants to tear at himself (but he’d heal) or destroy something (but the only thing he wants to _hurt_ is himself and how fucked up is that.) 

He starts running. 

-

He pounds through the town until he reaches the motel and bangs on Chris’ door. When Chris answers it his expression darkens, “Peter, I _told_ you –”

Peter cuts him off, “Shut up, Chris.” He pants, grabs Chris and kisses him hard. Chris tries to push him away, keeps saying _no_ and _fucking stop this_ but then Peter bites down on his bottom lip and Chris grabs at him with a snarl and pushes him backwards on to the bed. 

Clothes are strewn about and Chris’ hands are on his hips, Chris’ lips are on his neck and Chris is fucking him so fucking hard he thinks he might split apart (but there are _tears_ that won’t stop falling and every now and again Chris will brush them away like they’re nothing.)

“Tell me I mean something,” he mumbles into the crook of Chris’ neck, rolls his hips, meets Chris’ every thrust. “Tell me this – _ah_ \- means something to you.” 

Chris’ grip on his hips tighten and his breath is hot in Peter’s ear.

“Please, Chris. _Please._ ”

Chris growls low in his throat and his thrusts speed up.

“It means something,” he says afterwards, pressing a kiss to Peter’s forehead. “God fucking help me, it means something.” 

-

Peter wakes up to Chris looking down at him, brushing his hair back. It’s almost _tender_ and Peter’s vaguely amused. There’s this silent thing between them, the acknowledgement that whatever they had is gone and this is something _new_. Something new and utterly terrifying. 

“We can’t do this again,” Chris says quietly. “For real, Peter.”

And Peter _knows_. He sits up, bats Chris’ hands away and stretches. “Okay,” he says. “Whatever you fucking want.” He casts around for his clothes and does his best to avoid Chris’ gaze.

“I’m sorry,” Chris says quietly. “Peter, I’m sorry. But you have to understand, this will never be more than what we’re doing right now and if my father found out well – ” Chris breaks off, stammering a little (Peter really fucking hates that Gerard makes Chris feel like that), “If he found out he’d tear you apart and I can’t...” he trails off again, sighing.

Peter watches him for a few moments. He’s realised that it’s the things Chris doesn’t say to him that matter most and that might be fucked up and not what it’s supposed to be like at all but it’s something and he’ll take it. “I get it,” he says roughly.

When he leaves he shuts the door tightly behind him and hopes Talia’s calmed down a little.

**Author's Note:**

> might do a follow up in chris' pov because i really wanted to do a djinn attack
> 
> on papa hale; i have a headcanon that he was sort of exiled (and later died because let's face it, this is _teen wolf_ we're talking about here) for something accidental but because talia was hbic she had to (or she'd lose face) and obv papa hale was very understanding and oh. feelings.


End file.
